


some things you let go, in order to live

by RoxisAngel



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage, F/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-10-09 19:05:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17412506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoxisAngel/pseuds/RoxisAngel
Summary: "But I’m getting off track,” Alistair said. He stopped walking and turned to face Cullen. "The reason I wanted to talk to you today is because I think that you should be the one to marry Lady Trevelyan."It seemed to take a very long time for the whole of Alistair’s speech to penetrate Cullen’s conscious, long enough for Cullen to entertain a highly-colored fantasy where he simply ran out of the garden.But his body remained stubbornly standing in place, so Cullen took a breath and said as deferentially as possible, "I don’t want to marry anyone, Your Majesty."(AU in which the Divine Conclave succeeds instead of getting blown up. Afterwards, Cullen moves to Denerim, only to be roped into an arranged marriage.)





	1. Chapter 1

"Cullen, do you have a moment?"

Cullen looked up from the duty roster he had been checking. King Alistair was standing in the doorway of Cullen's office, looking tired and still wearing the crown and embroidered cape that his advisers wrestled him into whenever he made official appearances or met with foreign diplomats.

"Of course, Your Highness," Cullen said.

Alistair made a face. "It's because I'm wearing the crown, isn't it? Never mind, don't answer that, just get up and walk with me."

Cullen made a note on the roster to mark his place—Ser Cauthrien was good at her job, but she still kept giving guards back-to-back shifts on opposite ends of the castle too often to let Cullen post the schedule without revising it first—then stood up and followed Alistair out into the hall.

Of all the things that Cullen thought would happen to him after he left the Templar Order, becoming Captain of the King's Guard hadn't even crossed his mind. After the Mage-Templar War broke out, Cullen had been determined to help Divine Justinia's fledgling Inquisition for as long as he had to—but miracle of all miracles, her Divine Conclave had _worked_. It had taken weeks for both parties to agree on how to best reform the Circles, but in the end the mages and templars had returned to their Circles with little complaint. The Inquisition had remained for several months to help facilitate the reforms, but eventually Justinia disbanded it.

At the same time, the former Captain of the King's Guard in Denerim died suddenly, leaving Ser Cauthrien as his successor. She was perfectly capable of filling the role, but she was deeply unpopular among the older nobility, as her aunt had been Loghain Mac Tir's trusted lieutenant during his attempted coup. To ease their fears, Queen Anora had suggested bringing in a neutral third party to take over the post temporarily and evaluate Ser Cauthrien's performance. Alistair asked Cullen to fill the position—after all, during the Fifth Blight and civil war, Cullen had either been stationed on the other side of Ferelden or in Kirkwall, and had heard nothing of Denerim's politics until well after the fact.

"So, how's Ser Cauthrien doing as your second in command?" Alistair asked as he steered them towards a nearby stairwell. "Do you think she'll be ready for that promotion soon?"

"She's doing an excellent job," Cullen said as they descended to the ground floor. "I'd let her take over now, if she wanted."

"Oh really?" Alistair asked.

"Cauthrien has a good head on her shoulders," Cullen said. "She respects her soldiers, and they respect her as well. The only people who don't like her are the ones that know how her aunt helped Loghain. More importantly, she has a very good grasp of her own abilities, and can recognize when someone else is better suited to a task."

"She still can't make a proper duty roster, then?" Alistair asked.

Cullen winced. "No, but Bann Eremon's bastard has a head for schedules. Everyone knows he'll be in charge of that when she's Captain."

"Good," Alistair said. "Does that mean you've been thinking about what you might do after she's been promoted?"

Cullen didn't respond. Truth be told, Cullen had no idea what he was going to do next. He wanted to get away from politics and be closer to his family, but he had spent the better part of the past twenty years attached to some kind of military force. Mia always said that she had a spare room for him at her farm, but Cullen couldn't help but be nervous about transitioning out of such a regimented life, especially if he wanted to stay off lyrium. Coming to Denerim had been a test for himself as much as Cauthrien. As the months passed, Cullen was turning over more and more responsibilities to Cauthrien, and he was glad to note that his increased free time seemed to have no direct correlation to his lyrium cravings. Maybe by the end of his year here, he would be ready to go to South Reach.

Alistair lead them out into the royal gardens. It was a warm spring afternoon, and this late in the season the flowerbeds were a riot of color. Queen Anora was sitting next to a fountain, dipping her bare feet into the water when she thought her ladies-in-waiting were distracted by the young prince and princess toddling among them. Anora and Alistair smiled when they saw each other, but then she turned to stop the young princess from putting a stone in her mouth, and Alistair kept walking toward the pond on the other side of the gardens. Half-hidden by a pair of ancient weeping willows, it was the most secluded spot in the garden.

"So, I have this problem, and I thought you could help me with it," Alistair said as he began walking around the edge of the pond.

"What is it?" Cullen asked.

"Well, you know about the civil war in Orlais," Alistair began. "Celene's not a warmonger, but Gaspard is, and if he becomes emperor then the first thing he'll do is try to invade Ferelden. So it's important that we work on getting more allies, and to strengthen the friendly relationships that we do have. And even if Celene comes out on top, having more allies is never a bad thing."

Cullen stayed silent, waiting. Alistair had spent much of his first decade as king working to help Ferelden recover after the Blight and the civil war, and his efforts were largely successful. Since Ferelden had such a long history of isolationism, Cullen wasn't sure if this new push for allies was a natural extension of Alistair and Anora's goals, or if it was spurred by the birth of their twins two years ago.

"Ostwick finally sent another ambassador. I've been talking to him all week, and it looks like his main goal is to negotiate a marriage between Ostwick and Ferelden," Alistair continued. "It wouldn't be a royal marriage, because our children are a little young to be married off right now, and their teyrn's already married off all of his own children. But an alliance like this would still be an important gesture of goodwill to the rest of the world, especially since Starkhaven is still kind of mad at me for letting the mages stay in Redcliffe during the war. And there would be some cool trade perks.

"Anyway," Alistair said, "Ambassador Hewitt says that they already have a candidate in mind. Bann Trevelyan is offering the hand of his youngest daughter, Lady Evelyn Trevelyan. The Trevelyans are a minor noble house, but they have good standing and very strong ties to the Chantry and the Templars.

"So, I have two problems. First, who do I want to offer up as a candidate? Lady Trevelyan is in her twenties, I think, and all of the unmarried lords I can list off are old enough to be her father, or worse," Alistair said. "Anora said that marrying Lady Trevelyan off to someone who was just going to die on her would be construed as an insult to Ostwick and the spirit of the alliance, if not the letter. Plus it's just gross, so I don't want to do that if I can avoid it."

Cullen couldn't help but feel sorry for this Lady Trevelyan, but he still didn't know why Alistair was telling him all this.

"My second problem is that Lady Trevelyan is a mage," Alistair continued.

"A mage," Cullen repeated slowly. Alistair couldn't possibly want to transfer Cullen back into templar duties, could he?

"Yeah," Alistair said. "According to the ambassador, she's something of a prodigy. Passed her Harrowing at seventeen, then made full enchanter three years later, right before the war broke out. During the Divine Conclave, she did a lot of behind-the-scenes work and helped coordinate the different Circle reform groups into a cohesive power. But the minute her parents heard that mages could get permission to marry and leave the Circle, they removed her from the Ostwick Tower and volunteered her for this. They promised that she'll have at least four templars in her household, so lack of supervision isn't a problem, but the mage part certainly put a damper on any prospects she might have had otherwise.

"But I'm getting off track," Alistair said. He stopped walking and turned to face Cullen. "The reason I wanted to talk to you today is because I think that _you_ should be the one to marry Lady Trevelyan."

Cullen's brain went curiously blank at Alistair's words.

"I mean," Alistair said, shifting nervously when Cullen gave no response, "you're not married or romantically involved with anyone right now that I know of, the age difference between you and Lady Trevelyan isn't _terrible_ , and you're more familiar with mages than any of the nobles here. I figure that I can make you a Bann before the marriage negotiations are complete, and Ostwick can't complain too much about that, because Lady Trevelyan wasn't supposed to have any noble title a year ago, either."

It seemed to take a very long time for the whole of Alistair's speech to penetrate Cullen's conscious, long enough for Cullen to entertain a highly-colored fantasy where he simply ran out of the garden. He could find Ser Cauthrien, tell her what Alistair had proposed, and they could get the Revered Mother at the palace's Chantry to marry them before Alistair or any of his guards caught up with them. If they didn't consummate the marriage, they could get it annulled after this Lady Trevelyan was safely married off to someone else. . . .

But his body remained stubbornly standing in place, so Cullen took a breath and said as deferentially as possible, "I don't want to marry anyone, Your Majesty. And I don't want to become a Bann."

"Well," Alistair said, shrugging. He resumed his walk around the pond again, and Cullen followed him. "I guess there's always Arl Kendells . . . I didn't approach him because he just got married, but his last wife died within a fortnight of their wedding, so it shouldn't be long now. . . ."

Everyone knew Vaughan Kendells was a murderer, but no one had been able to pin anything on him. The city guard hadn't done anything in the beginning because he had just been killing elves, but now that he had moved on to humans, he'd had enough practice to get away with it.

It was such blatant manipulation. If Alistair was so concerned that an older groom might violate the spirit of the agreement, a murderous one certainly would.

But if Alistair was _really_ thinking of Arl Kendells—

"If I agree to this, are you sure that the Ostwick ambassador will, too?" Cullen asked, feeling torn. He wanted nothing to do with nobles or politics or a mage out of her Circle, but Alistair was making it sound like Cullen was the only person in Ferelden who would treat this woman decently—although trusting him to not immediately murder Lady Trevelyan was quite the low bar.

"I'm sure," Alistair said. He beamed.

"And what exactly are the duties of a Bann?" Cullen asked.

"Oh, it's not hard," Alistair said as he launched into an explanation that took three trips around the pond. Cullen listened attentively, and was surprised to realize that it didn't sound too different from his current job. Even the politics were similar, if one looked at them at the right angle—if Cullen could deflect a noble's concerns about how their poor bastards were treated as guardsmen, he was pretty sure he could navigate a neighboring Bann's posturing. Maybe.

When Alistair was done speaking, Anora came up to them.

"There's a message for you, Alistair," she said, pointing to a woman who was standing carefully out of earshot.

"Excuse me," Alistair said. He left to speak with the woman, leaving Anora and Cullen together.

Anora looked at Cullen for a long moment, her gaze inscrutable. "So Alistair's told you?" she finally asked.

"He has," Cullen said.

"And you don't want to do it," Anora said.

"No," Cullen said. He sighed. "Am I really the _only_ person in all of Ferelden who could do this?"

"At this point . . . yes, you are," Anora said. She at least had the decency to look unhappy about it. "I approached several nobles with adult children to see if they would agree, but there's a scarcity of unmarried ones right now. And among the eligible ones, no one wants to risk introducing magic into their line, even if they're the youngest child of a cadet branch. A commoner—or someone who was raised as such—would have different views about their bloodline, so I suggested creating a new Bann to marry Lady Trevelyan instead of trying to browbeat an existing one into it."

"And then you thought of me," Cullen said. Pointing out that _he_ didn't want to marry this woman either probably wouldn't get him anywhere.

"We're not expecting you to be happy about this," Anora said. "But Alistair says you've spent years showing everyone that you are a different man than the one he met at Kinloch Hold, and I trust that you can come up with some kind of arrangement with Lady Trevelyan that lets you live peacefully together."

"That depends on Lady Trevelyan, too," Cullen said.

"True," Anora said. "She sounds like a good woman, but the Ostwick ambassador is very eager to make this match. If you ever hear his glowing review, take it with a grain of salt. I can believe that she's highly accomplished and skilled at diplomacy, but Ambassador Hewitt makes it sound like she's Andraste herself."

Alistair had also mentioned Lady Trevelyan's diplomacy. Cullen took that as a good sign, but he still didn't want to make any decisions yet.

"When do I have to give you my final answer?" Cullen asked. "Can I sleep on it?"

Anora glanced at Alistair, who was still talking with the messenger.

"If you want time to think, you should leave before Alistair comes back," Anora said. "He's meeting with Ambassador Hewitt again next week. We want your answer before then."

"Understood, Your Highness," Cullen said.

Cullen left the garden as quickly as possible. He stopped by his office to check in with Ser Cauthrien, mostly to make sure that nothing was currently on fire and to tell her to have Bann Eremon's son look over the schedule before anyone posted it, and then left the palace.

As a holy city, the birthplace of Andraste herself, Denerim was filled with chantries of all shapes and sizes. Cullen's favorite was somewhere between the palace and the market district, tucked in the midst of a cluster of residences. Though much more affluent than the simple chantry in Honnleath, it was almost as small. The tourists that congregated in the chantries at the royal palace and the market district were rare here, and thus the templars had a much smaller presence. Cullen found it an excellent place to visit when he needed to think. He could sit in a pew for as long as he wanted, and as long as he kept his head down, the Revered Mother let him be.

Today, Cullen slid into a seat near the back and bowed his head reflexively, though he had no prayer in mind. He'd never felt quite so adrift before, not even before he left the templars. Before Cassandra came to recruit him, Cullen had spent all of his efforts in the present, trying to keep order in Kirkwall. Aside from rebuffing any attempts that would make his tenure as Knight-Commander permanent, he hadn't thought about the future. He hadn't been so disaffected with the templars that staying on as Knight-Captain seemed unendurable—at least until Cassandra proposed he join the Divine's Inquisition.

And though Justinia eventually ended the Inquisition, it hadn't felt like the end for Cullen. Mia had invited him to South Reach, but Alistair had invited him to Denerim, too, and Justinia had said that she would gladly make a place for him if he wished to stay in Orlais. There would have been other opportunities as well, particularly with the reformed templars, if Cullen had cared to seek them out.

Now Cullen's time as Captain was going to end sooner rather than later, and he didn't think he could flee to South Reach or Val Royeaux even if he wanted to. Alistair and Anora had made a show of giving him time to think, but when it came down to it, Cullen had a feeling that he wasn't going to have much of a choice in the matter.

***

Cullen spent the next week laying low and avoiding Alistair and Anora. Preemptively deciding to hole up turned out to be a good strategy, partially because his lyrium withdrawal symptoms came back with a vengeance, and partially because once the shock wore off, Cullen got _angry_. How could Anora say that they "understood" why he wouldn't be happy, and yet ask him to go through with this anyway? How could they expect Cullen to agree to their plan with any kind of positivity within a week?

But after stewing for a few days—and, in his calmer moments, reaching out to several of Alistair's advisers for their views on the subject—Cullen's anger eventually burnt itself out and was replaced by a sort of grim acceptance.

There was no way around it: Alistair and Anora weren't going to suddenly change their minds and pick someone else. And if Cullen tried to defy the wishes of his king, there would be repercussions—not just for Cullen, but Lady Trevelyan as well. If she married Arl Kendalls, he would almost certainly murder her, and the last thing Alistair or Anora would want was an international incident to deal with. Logically, Cullen could see that he was a good candidate, and, with the way Alistair described them, the responsibilities of a Bann were something he could handle. He still wasn't happy about it, but he could see why Alistair would pick him.

That was what Cullen tried to keep in mind as he tracked Alistair down in the library the afternoon before the King's meeting with the Ostwick ambassador. He didn't have to like the idea of the marriage, but he had to go through with it, and the least he could do was be civil.

Alistair looked up as Cullen approached. "There you are," he said, grinning, "I was a little worried you'd left town. Every time I tried to find you, Ser Cauthrien said that you were out sick."

"I'm feeling better now," Cullen said. These days, his withdrawal symptoms were mostly manageable, or easy to ignore if he had something else to focus on, but sudden, unfamiliar stress—like a surprise marriage—had a tendency to set them off.

"Good to hear," Alistair said, "Anyway, do you have any thoughts about that thing we talked about a few days ago? About you and Lady Trevelyan?"

"I have a few," Cullen said. "But I have a question, first."

"Ask away," Alistair said.

"Did it ever occur to Ostwick to send someone else?" Cullen asked. "You're putting a lot of effort into creating a suitable husband for a mage—but why couldn't you tell Ostwick's ambassador that you're still interested in the arrangement, but it can't be to Lady Trevelyan?"

"I asked that question myself, actually," Alistair said. "It's a long story and I'm not completely sure of all of the details, but the gist of it is that when Bann Trevelyan submitted his youngest daughter's name for this whole thing, the Chantry heard about it and got interested. They were the ones who insisted that Lady Trevelyan should be the one to go to Ferelden, actually. It sets a precedent—not only is a mage going to live outside of a Circle and actually get married, she's going to hold a noble title, too—but the stakes are pretty low, all things considered."

Cullen raised an eyebrow.

"Bann is pretty low title, and I'm assuming that you're not going to be very interested in playing politics and gaining a whole bunch of power once you get it," Alistair said.

"I can't argue with that," Cullen said.

Alistair grinned, then said, "So, will you do it?"

"Fine," Cullen said. "I will marry Lady Trevelyan."

"Thank you," Alistair said. "Now, follow me. We have paperwork to do."

It was a little more complicated than that, of course, but they did start with paperwork. The documents that would make Cullen a Bann were already drawn up; all Alistair had to do was sign them in front of a witness. The elderly Bann Ceorlic apparently had no interest in keeping Caer Bronach free of highwaymen himself, so in one stroke of a pen, Cullen was given a slice of the Southern Bannorn around the keep and nearby village of Crestwood. It would be up to Cullen to gain the goodwill of the local freeholders, but that was where he could start.

Next, Cullen had to sit down with an archivist and create a coat of arms. Their meeting mostly consisted of the archivist asking Cullen if he liked various design elements and tweaking the materials and lines until they came up with a design that was easily recognizable and adhered to the complicated rule of tincture, though it took some time to come up with a charge. Cullen wanted an animal, but it was difficult to find the right one. Canines were incredibly popular in Ferelden heraldry, so much so that the archivist was worried that any design they created with one wouldn't be unique enough; and eagles and lions were so common in Orlesian heraldry that she took them off the table immediately, lest it give Cullen's new peers ammunition against him.

After batting around different animals—a stag, a boar, a dragon—Cullen asked, "What about a horse?"

"Oh, that's a good one," the archivist said. She started a sketch of a horse standing rampant. "Not very common in Ferelden, so you could take your pick of a field."

"So, a silver horse on a blue field, would that work?" Cullen asked. There were a lot of rules about the placement of colors and metals on top of each other, so he wanted to keep it simple, if possible.

"Yes," the archivist said. She sketched a shield around the beast and shaded it in. Then she asked, "Have you thought about a motto?"

"Um, can I deal with that later?" Cullen asked, taken off-guard,

 _Um, can I deal with that later?_ the archivist wrote below the shield, and then laughed at her own joke. Cullen couldn't help but laugh, too; it was nice that there was at least one person who didn't take this whole situation so seriously.

A quiet knock on the door frame announced Anora's arrival. "Having fun?" she asked.

The archivist hastily stood and curtsied. "We have a good preliminary design, Your Highness," she said. "I'll just need to do a little more research, and then we can make it official."

"Good job, I like this," Anora said, looking at the coat of arms. Then she looked at Cullen and said, "I thought I should warn you: Ambassador Hewitt wants you to come to the meeting tomorrow afternoon."

"Oh," Cullen said.

"Do you have a dress uniform?" Anora asked.

"Yes," Cullen said.

"I recommend you wear that," Anora said. "We'll have to get you a new wardrobe soon, but your dress uniform will do in a pinch."

As if on cue, Cullen felt a headache coming on behind his temples. "Thanks for the advice."

***

Twenty-four hours later, Cullen was standing outside the meeting room with Alistair and Ambassador Moore. He was even wearing his itchy dress uniform.

"Ambassador Hewitt and Knight-Captain Maxwell are already inside," Ambassador Moore said.

"Why is a Knight-Captain here?" Cullen asked.

"Bann Trevelyan sent his youngest son along, to make sure the family's interests are protected," Ambassador Moore said. She gave him a minute to digest that information, and then said, "Are you ready?"

Cullen nodded, and they went inside.

Ambassador Hewitt was a small, paunchy man who was overjoyed to meet Cullen, if the way he wrung his hand was any measure. Cullen got the impression that Hewitt would agree to just about anyone with a pulse and wondered what, exactly, Ostwick got out of this arrangement. The Chantry had taken an interested and that might count for something, but on paper, this marriage was between minor nobles. Aside from making sure their respective trade vessels went unmolested, Ostwick and Ferelden couldn't pledge military aid like they could with a royal marriage.

Knight-Captain Maxwell was a different story entirely. Though he was in his mid-forties, he was tall and lean, with dark hair and very handsome features. While Hewitt seemed eager, Maxwell was wary, giving Cullen a critical once-over as they shook hands.

"I'd heard you'd left the order," Maxwell said.

"I did," Cullen said.

"My father is very insistent that Evelyn will not be sent back to a Circle while she is still married," Maxwell said pointedly once everyone was seated at the table.

"She's still an enchanter," Moore said immediately. "What if she's called there temporarily?"

And so began almost an hour of negotiating how long, and under what circumstances, Lady Trevelyan could stay in a Circle.

Cullen and Maxwell both gave a little input on what sort of circumstances might require Lady Trevelyan's presence at a Circle, but they mostly stayed quiet and watched Moore and Hewitt go back and forth. It hadn't even occurred to Cullen to try and send Lady Trevelyan away—he had just assumed that if they were married, then they would have to live together, and that would be that. He had thought that if Lady Trevelyan had permission to live outside a Circle, she would not be willing to go back, and he would have to make the best of it with her at his side.

Eventually, Moore and Hewitt agreed that, baring unforeseen circumstances, Lady Trevelyan could spend up to fourteen days per year at a Circle if summoned there as part of her duties as an enchanter.

"Now, do you have any other any other concerns?" Moore asked.

"Not at present," Maxwell said.

Moore looked at Cullen, who shook his head. He honestly didn't know enough to be able to bring up any concerns.

"To give both parties time to prepare their households, I propose the wedding take place in Solace," Moore said.

After deciding on the particular date, it was time to go over the marriage contract a final time.

It was a long document that laid out not only Lady Trevelyan's sizable dowry and the trade agreement, but also had provisions for the size and makeup of Lady Trevelyan's household, and what would happen to any children she bore. As she was acting more as a noble than a mage, it was decided that she would be able to keep them—though if any children turned out to be mages themselves, they would, of course, have to be sent to a Circle.

Cullen and Maxwell both agreed to each stipulation and signed the contract, and the meeting broke up soon after that. Alistair rose and said his goodbyes, and Moore and Hewitt got ready to leave as well.

Deciding that no one was going to need him until at least the next day, Cullen headed toward the door. He made it out to the corridor before a heavy hand clapped him on the shoulder.

"Okay, you need to show me where a good tavern is here," Maxwell said.

"I know of a place," Cullen said slowly. He could drop Maxwell off . . . or he could stay, have a drink, and try to learn more about Lady Trevelyan.

"Lead the way," Maxwell said.

The Battering Ram was a located close to the palace gates, and thus a favorite of the soldiers who worked there. Cullen picked a table in the corner and they ordered food and drinks as soon as Bella came by. It was a little early for supper, but by the time their meals came out, the tavern was filled to the brim with off-duty guards.

"Maker's balls, that was something else," Maxwell said, leaning back in his chair with his ale as Bella left to go deal with the rush.

"Was that not how marriage negotiations usually go?" Cullen asked.

"Eh," Maxwell said with a shrug. "I obviously skipped the whole getting-married bit, but from what I've seen with my older siblings, your parents sit down with you, they give you your options, you both pick someone. They talk to that someone's parents, hash out whatever concerns anyone has and make sure both parties agree to the marriage, and then you get the go-ahead to propose to each other at an appropriately romantic time. But this whole process for Evelyn has been a lot more . . . formal, what with Ostwick and Ferelden attaching trade bullshit to the marriage contract."

"Huh," Cullen said.

"I take it that's not how your parents got married?" Maxwell asked.

"My parents eloped," Cullen said. "When my mother's family was at the hamlet's Wintersend festival, she sneaked back to the farm, grabbed her hope chest and two ewes and hightailed it to the village where my father lived. Had to hold the ewes on lead lines during the ceremony so they wouldn't run off or try to eat the Revered Mother's robe. And in the end her parents actually approved of my father, so my mother's best dress got chewed on for nothing."

Maxwell laughed. "Of course."

"How many siblings do you have?" Cullen asked.

"For a long time, it was just Matilda, Cyril, and I, and we were all born within three years," Maxwell said. "Evelyn didn't show up until twenty years later, after Matilda and Cyril both got married off and left home, and I had joined the templars."

"Was it . . . strange for you, when she came into her magic?" Cullen asked. "That you were a templar?"

"'Strange' is a good word," Maxwell said. "Especially because at the time, I was a mage-hunter."

"Oh," Cullen said.

"Yeah," Maxwell said. "My captain made sure I was out of the tower when Evelyn was brought in, and the few times I did see her, the visits were very structured. There was always an enchanter or a priestess there to supervise us. I think it was so that she wouldn't get scared of me."

"You only saw her a few times?" Cullen asked.

"Well, the done thing among the Trevelyans is to have a couple of children—an heir and a spare—and then send any other children they have to the Chantry when they're about ten or so. That's what happened to me, and that's what would have happened to Evelyn if she hadn't come into her magic," Maxwell said.

Cullen tried not to look completely horrified, but it just seemed so _cold_ to deliberately send a child to the Chantry when, as nobles, they surely had the means to take care of them. He'd left home young, it was true, but that had been his own hard-fought choice.

He wasn't sure how successful he was at hiding is emotions, but Maxwell kept going anyway, saying, "Which is a long way of saying that there are a _lot_ of templars with the surname of Trevelyan, and most of those were at the Ostwick Tower when Evelyn was a child. And so once Evelyn came to the tower, the First Enchanter and the Knight-Commander were quick to reassign the lot of us to positions outside of the tower so there wouldn't be any conflict of interest. Or if she became an abomination, nobody would get cold feet about killing her."

"Where did you go?" Cullen asked.

"I suddenly didn't feel like staying a mage-hunter was the best career choice, especially since I was getting older, so I made sure I got promoted to lieutenant and assigned to Ostwick's Cathedral," Maxwell said. "I stayed there about ten years, until there was a sudden shortage of Knight-Captains at the Ostwick Tower and it was time for me to get another promotion. By then, Evelyn had passed her Harrowing and there was already talk about making her an enchanter, so she was established enough that my presence wouldn't help or hinder her."

"King Alistair said that she's in her twenties," Cullen said. "That's pretty young for an enchanter."

"She's twenty-five now," Maxwell said. "She was actually twenty when she passed her exams."

Before this week, Cullen had never heard of a mage reaching the rank of enchanter before their late twenties; even that was unusually young. "How did she do that?"

"I'm not going to say that Evelyn's not smart, or that she couldn't make enchanter at a ridiculously young age on her own, because she is, and she could if she felt like it, but her appointment was one hundred percent politically motivated," Maxwell said. "A couple months before the Kirkwall Chantry blew up, an abomination killed a large chunk of the Ostwick Tower's leadership. The Knight-Commander and the First Enchanter survived, but not too many others.

"So suddenly there was this dearth of senior personnel at the tower, so the First Enchanter and the Knight-Commander start pulling in whoever they can to fill the void," Maxwell continued. "That's how I came back—I was already going to become a Knight-Captain anyway, so they might as well move me to the tower. It was a little more difficult for the mages' side of things, but they filled the gaps as best they could.

"But they had a lot of trouble figuring out who was going to look over the youngest apprentices," Maxwell said. "It takes a lot of skill and a very special temperament to deal with newly arrived children that will light things on fire when they have temper tantrums, and Senior Enchanter Lydia had been the one in charge of that department for decades. Evelyn had started working under her when she was just an apprentice, and she did a pretty good job at running the show while the First Enchanter looked for a replacement. So good, in fact, that the First Enchanter decided to stop looking and just made her be in charge for good."

"Did that title require the rank of enchanter?" Cullen guessed.

"Senior Enchanter, technically, but they were in a pinch, and it wasn't like Evelyn wasn't going to reach that rank eventually," Maxwell said. "So they rushed her through the exams, and voilà. She made enchanter at twenty. I think it was a record, for our Circle at least."

Cullen didn't say anything for a while, just focused on finishing his food. Maxwell went up to the bar and came back with another round.

"So, I've heard rumors about you," Maxwell said conversationally, pushing another ale over to Cullen's side of the table.

Cullen sighed, finished off his current drink, and pulled his second round closer. There weren't a lot of good rumors about him. "What did you hear?"

"After the Hero of Ferelden saved Kinloch Hold from the Right of Annulment, you went crazy, killed three templars, and then went on the run," Maxwell said.

"No, that's not true," Cullen said. "I just argued with the Knight-Commander about what we should do with the mages that survived Uldred's attack. He called me a fool and sent me to a small chantry in the country until I . . . calmed down."

Maxwell looked sympathetic. "I had a cousin stationed at Kinloch Hold. He died during the attack." Maxwell shook his head. "Anyone would get bent out of shape after going through that."

"Leaving the tower was probably the best thing that happened to me that year," Cullen said. "Unfortunately, I was only in Greenfell for a few weeks. The Knight-Captain there recommended that I transfer to Kirkwall." Cullen couldn't keep the bitterness out of his voice as he added, "He said I would do well there."

"What sort of work did you do in the Gallows?" Maxwell asked.

Cullen spoke carefully. This was probably why Maxwell had wanted to talk to him in the first place. "When I first started, I worked with new recruits. Eventually, Meredith promoted me to an administrative role."

"Did you know she was crazy, in the beginning?" Maxwell asked.

"Yes . . . and no," Cullen said. "Especially in the beginning, I saw what I wanted to see: someone who took the dangers of magic more seriously than the Knight-Captain at Kinloch Hold. All of the collateral damage she caused . . . I was blind to it for a long time. And by the time I opened my eyes, Meredith had that lyrium sword, and nothing anyone said could make a difference."

Maxwell shook his head. "Kirkwall was a mess. There was nothing any one person could have done to fix it."

"Maybe one day I'll believe that," Cullen said.

They finished the rest of their drinks in silence. Cullen bought the next round.

Maxwell looked thoughtful at the table as he drank. Cullen started to wonder if he should make an excuse to go back to his quarters; he didn't feel very drunk yet, but he was giving away an awfully lot of personal information to someone who would absolutely judge him.

"Have you thought about how Evelyn's templars are going to be set up?" Maxwell asked after a while. "Are they going to report to you, or the local chantry . . . ?"

"I haven't thought about that at all," Cullen said. "The local chantry, I assume, though. I'm not a templar anymore."

"Hmm," Maxwell said. "I'm thinking there'll be a lieutenant in charge of everyone in the household, and then maybe a few of the greener templars who haven't developed any bad habits yet. If they want to transfer somewhere else or go back to Ostwick, then they can be replaced by Ferelden templars. Would you be able to vet those ones?"

"I don't see why not," Cullen said. He might not be a templar any more, but he could certainly judge a good one. "I assume you're going to pick the ones that come with . . . Evelyn?" It felt strange saying her name, but addressing her as Lady Trevelyan would feel even weirder.

"Of course," Maxwell said.

Cullen drummed his fingers on the table for a moment before asking, "So, what else is Evelyn like?"

"She's pretty, I guess, if you're into women," Maxwell said. "Mother would have sent a portrait down with me, but Father didn't like the idea. Evelyn takes after him, but first she got a tattoo after she passed her exams like all of the enchanters do at Ostwick, just a little thing next to her eye, and then later on her left hand got messed up. So now Father thinks she's hideous, and he's such a vain man that he thinks that reflects on him, somehow."

"What happened to her hand?" Cullen asked.

"She got stabbed through the hand when she was on her way to the Conclave," Maxwell said. "It got healed okay, but it's a little lumpy and it hurts her when the weather turns."

"I . . . I don't feel like I can judge someone for that," Cullen said, gesturing to his own face. He honestly hadn't been too concerned about her looks—Cullen had a hard time imagining Evelyn as unattractive if Maxwell was anything to go by. And no matter what she looked like, it wasn't like he was planning on having children with her in the first place. "But, uh, I meant what she's like as a person."

"Oh," Maxwell said, blinking. "That's a tougher question."

Cullen raised an eyebrow.

"You already know she's smart," Maxwell hedged. He played with his glass for a few minutes before finally saying, "Everyone has always had plans for Evelyn—our parents, the First Enchanter, now the fucking Chantry—they all want something from her. Or they want her to be something for them. So I think she sees this as a way to get away from it all: if she goes through with this, they can't ask any more of her. She'll finally just be able to garden like she wants to."

Movement near the door made Cullen turn his head. Ambassador Hewitt had just entered the tavern. He looked very out of place among the guards and soldiers.

"I guess that's my cue to leave, but I want to say one more thing first," Maxwell said. He stood up and jabbed a finger at Cullen's chest. "If Evelyn ever says she's unhappy with you, I will absolutely come back down here and put an arrow through your throat."

And without another word, Maxwell walked out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started writing this in the summer of 2017 and got about 20K in before abandoning it. But I reread the first couple of chapters recently and I'm really proud of them, plus I remember where I want the story to go, so I think I'll pick it up again. Second chapter might show up next week, but then I'll be out of buffer and updates will be really slow after that.
> 
> Tweaking the canon timeline a bit. It’s 9:43 Dragon, but I’m pretending that the Orlesian Civil War either started later or is still going on. Also, the Hero of Ferelden obviously hasn’t gone missing yet. And we’re going to pretend that Justinia V actually formed the Inquisition instead of it happening after her death. *handwaves*


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note the new rating! Sex stuff doesn't happen yet, but they talk about it and I figured better be safe than sorry, especially since the rating was going to head there anyway.

"What happens if I miss my own wedding?" Evelyn asked. 

"Realistically, the worst thing that can happen now is that the ceremony gets delayed for a few hours so that you have more time to get ready," Kat said reassuringly. "Besides, it's not like there's anything else left at this point that can go wrong." 

"Our horses could drop dead," Amethyne piped up. 

"Then we'll leave their corpses with you and continue on foot," Kat said. "We're close enough to walk now." 

"Hey, why do I have to deal with the dead horses?" Amethyne asked. 

A nervous cackle came out of Evelyn's mouth before she clapped a hand over it and forced her emotions down. She closed her eyes, focusing for a few minutes on taking even breaths, in and out. Her horse was surrounded by four templars on their own mounts. Evelyn's former governess was at her side, and her elven lady's maid was riding behind them. Evelyn couldn't reach a full meditative state on the back of a moving animal, but focusing on the feel of the horse's gait as he walked along the cobblestone road, the chatter of passersby as they went about their business in the busy Denerim market district, the feel of the warm late-afternoon sun on her face calmed her down nonetheless. And if it kept her from hysterical laughter in the middle of the street, Evelyn would take it. 

Kat was right—the trip from Ostwick had been nothing but mishap after mishap, turning what should have been a week-long journey into nearly twice that. First there was the storm that delayed their ship from leaving port for two days, then half of their party fell ill in Amaranthine. And once they finally started down the Pilgrim's Path, the axle on their supply wagon broke when they were ten miles away from the nearest village, delaying them yet again. 

So it was with mixed feelings that Evelyn turned her horse down one residential street, and then another, slowly working her way toward Denerim's wealthier homes. She was relieved that, as disastrous as their trip had been, they were only late. On the other hand, every step her horse took brought Evelyn that much closer to Bann Rutherford and their impending wedding. 

Evelyn closed her eyes again and focused on her breathing. Maxwell had met the man and approved of him. He was a good judge of character; therefore she could be reasonably certain that Bann Rutherford would treat her decently. If not . . . well, that was why Evelyn kept a knife on her. 

Too soon, they reached the correct manor. A redheaded woman was waiting for them near the front door. She looked vaguely familiar. 

"Sister Nightingale?" Evelyn asked as she climbed down off her horse. 

Leliana smiled, showing her teeth. "Lady Trevelyan," she said. "Good to see you again." 

"And you as well," Evelyn said to be polite. She had met with the Left Hand of the Divine several times during the Divine Conclave to discuss how the talks were going, but that was the extent of their relationship. "What brings you to Ferelden?" 

"Oh, I wouldn't miss Cullen's wedding for the world," Leliana said. She gestured toward the door. "Come in. I'll show you around." 

When Evelyn hesitated, Lieutenant Thomas, a tall man with weathered features and salt-and-pepper hair, motioned for the reigns. 

"I'll make sure the horses get taken care of," he said. He scanned his fellow templars before pointing at two. "Gwen, Rose, go with her. James, come with me." 

The inside of the manor was nicely decorated, if somewhat empty. It was missing the trappings of an established lineage: there were no crests hanging from the walls, or heirlooms sitting in the corners. Evelyn focused on pairing faces and names as Leliana introduced her to the seneschal, Verald, and cook, Marie, and they went over the plan for that evening. 

"The Grand Cleric and the King and Queen are going to be here in an hour," Leliana said when they reached the staircase. "I believe Cullen is upstairs getting ready. Do you want to meet him now, or . . . ?" 

"I think I should start getting ready myself," Evelyn said, suddenly conscious of how grimy her clothes felt. It hadn't mattered when she was on the road, but she didn't want to spend her first meeting with the Bann wishing she had taken a bath. 

"Of course," Leliana said. She started up the stairs. "Your things are already here. It sounds like they had a much easier journey than you did." 

"Everything?" Evelyn asked. The plan had been for her to stay with Ambassador Hewitt for the week before the wedding. She had shipped most of her belongings to his address. 

"Some of your winter wardrobe is still at the ambassador's, but Anora thought that it would be a good idea to start moving your things here," Leliana said. She stopped outside of an ornate wooden door. "If you're missing something that you want to wear today, let me know and I'll go get it for you. Hewitt isn't staying far from here." 

"Thank you," Evelyn said, touched. 

Evelyn had spent so much time downstairs that by the time she actually entered her room, Kat and Amethyne had both changed out of their traveling clothes and were already laying out Evelyn's favorite silk brocade ensemble. A very nervous elf was standing next to a filled bathtub on the far side of the room. 

"I was told to give you _cold_ bathwater," she said, shooting a pointed look at Amethyne. 

"What's your name?" Evelyn asked. 

"Flora, my lady," the woman said. 

"Thank you, Flora," Evelyn said. "Cold bathwater is fine." 

With a mollified nod, Flora left the room. Gwen and Rose wisely decided to follow her out the door. So far, the templars had been doing a good job of keeping watch while giving Evelyn privacy at the same time, or as much as they could while on the road. 

Evelyn crossed the room to the bathtub and helped Kat put a screen between it and the door. Then, after removing her veil and making sure that her braid was still wrapped around her head and wouldn't get wet, Evelyn stripped the rest of her clothes off and stuck her hands into the water until it was warm enough to put the rest of her body in it. 

Oh _Maker_ , a decently hot bath felt good, especially after two weeks of using a basin and a washcloth if she was lucky. Evelyn gave herself thirty seconds to luxuriate before she grabbed a bar of soap and started scrubbing her skin. 

"What do you want to do with your hair?" Kat asked. 

"Can you redo my braid, please?" Evelyn asked. She had originally planned to wash her hair and let it dry enough to wear it long during the ceremony, but they didn't have enough time to do that. Evelyn had to admit that she was a little disappointed, but she pushed her feelings aside—as long as her hair looked neat and presentable, it wasn't as if her hairstyle mattered. Veils and headscarves weren't popular this far south, anyway, and women in Ferelden wore their hair long and uncovered so often that it wouldn't have the same dramatic effect as it would have in Ostwick. 

"Alright," Kat said. "I need to check on some things first, but I'll be back in a few minutes. Amethyne, can you come with me? I might need your help." 

When Evelyn was finally clean, she climbed out of the tub and dried herself off. Kat and Amethyne still hadn't returned, so Evelyn pulled on her stockings and went through her traveling clothes until she found her knife. She was used to wearing it on her belt, so it took her a couple of minutes for her to find a way to attach the sheath to the back of her garter so that she could easily reach it, yet it wouldn't impact the way she walked or moved if, say, it turned out that the Grand Cleric wanted them to kneel for prayer. When Evelyn was happy with her handiwork, she pulled on the rest of her smallclothes and a clean chemise. 

Kat and Amethyne came back just as Evelyn finished reapplying her makeup. Amethyne was holding a bouquet of prophet's laurel; Kat had a bottle of wine and a tray of bread and cheese. 

"Sit down and eat something while I do your hair," Kat said. She put the tray on the empty vanity and pointed at the little seat that went with it. 

Evelyn sat obediently. Her stomach twisted into knots at the sight of food, but she dutifully spread some soft cheese onto a piece of bread and began to nibble on it anyway. Lunch had been hours ago, and any amount of food would make her feel better. 

Kat started on Evelyn's hair, removing the pins and letting the braid fall down Evelyn's back. As Kat began undoing the braid, she said, "The Grand Cleric is already here. I just talked to her. The ceremony is going to be fairly short, and neither one of you have enough time to memorize any personal vows. The only words you'll have to say all by yourself are 'I do.'" 

"I'm going to be able to meet him before we get married, right?" Evelyn asked. 

"That's the plan," Kat said as she began combing Evelyn's hair. "But apparently the Grand Cleric is keen to have the wedding take place today." 

Kat had just finished pinning Evelyn's braid back into place when someone knocked on the door. Evelyn got behind the screen while Amethyne answered it. 

"Can I come in?" Leliana asked. 

"Just a minute," Evelyn said. She grabbed her kirtle and stepped into it so as not to muss her hair. Kat helped her get the fitted gown in place over her chemise, and then started lacing up the back. "Alright, you can come in." 

Leliana closed the door behind her as she entered the room. "How are you doing?" 

"I'm fine," Evelyn said. Kat gave a pointed tug on the laces. "I'm nervous." 

"Is this what you're going to wear?" Leliana asked. 

Evelyn peeked around the edge of the screen. Leliana was examining her silk brocade surcote. "Oh, yes." 

"It looks lovely," Leliana said. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go." 

And with that, she left as quickly as she had come. 

"What was that about?" Amethyne asked. 

"I don't know, but we're ready for the surcote," Kat said. 

Evelyn's silk brocade surcote was probably her favorite piece of fancy clothing. The deep blue color bought out her eyes, and contrasted wonderfully with her pale blonde hair. Hanging sleeves and a high cut in front showed off the white kirtle underneath. The only downsides were the tiny silver buttons that went from the neckline to the hem: though they looked beautiful, it was a pain to do them all up. Amethyne took over for Kat and started on the buttons. Evelyn tried to help her, but her hands were shaking too badly to be of much use. 

"You're almost done," Kat said as she fastened a belt around Evelyn's waist, and then a pendant around her neck. 

"How much time do I have?" Evelyn asked. 

"I think you have a few minutes," Kat said. 

"Okay," Evelyn said. 

While at Redcliffe, Evelyn had encountered a Knight-Enchanter from Val Royeaux. The very first thing Commander Marie had taught Evelyn was how to enter into a meditative state that enhanced her mana. It was also supposed to help Evelyn stay calm during the stress of battle, but outside of a few practice skirmishes, she'd never gotten a chance to test it. The meditative state did, however, keep Evelyn calm during other stressful situations. 

So she closed her eyes and focused on her breathing. In and out, even breaths. Evelyn let her senses reach out, hearing muffled voices of her templars complaining about what she was doing with her mana in the hall, catching a whiff of the prophet's laurel bouquet, tasting blood with her tongue because she'd been worrying at her lip _again_. 

She could go through with this; she'd known that from the beginning. Meeting Bann Rutherford was inevitably going to be a little awkward, and the ceremony was going to be tense with so many dignitaries watching . . . but then it would be over. Evelyn would just have to survive the ensuing dinner party, and she'd had plenty of experience with that. 

Also, when the seneschal had gone over the menu, Evelyn had seen her favorite fish soup. It wouldn't be exactly the same one she had in Ostwick, but it was something to look forward to. 

Evelyn opened her eyes and looked down at her hands. They were no longer shaking. "I'm ready." 

Kat nodded, and together she, Evelyn, and Amethyne exited the room and headed down the hall. 

They were stopped by Leliana at the top of the staircase. 

"The Grand Cleric wants to marry you immediately," Leliana said, looking thoroughly put out. 

"Why?" Kat demanded. 

Leliana shook her head. "Maker knows, but I couldn't talk her out of it. And Alistair won't let me steal her clothes and be the officiant instead." 

"It's fine," Evelyn said. Judging from Kat's and Amethyne's looks, it was _not_ fine, but Evelyn herself was feeling remarkably unconcerned. She was going to marry the Bann anyway; unless he was truly horrible, fifteen minutes of awkward conversation wouldn't change their relationship too drastically. She would just have to shift her focus from making pre-ceremony smalltalk to the ceremony itself. "I'll need my bouquet." 

Amethyne fetched it. Kat took a few sprigs of the prophet's laurel and wove it into Evelyn's hair while Evelyn schooled her face into an appropriately polite expression. She knew that concentrating the way she was tended to make her look harsh; normally, that wouldn't bother her, but she knew that _she_ would be bothered if her betrothed looked bad-tempered as they came up the aisle. 

"When you get downstairs, head straight toward the Grand Cleric," Leliana said unhappily. "I'll follow you." 

"Thank you," Evelyn said. 

After a little more fussing from Kat, Evelyn took a breath and headed down the stairs. The parlor was filled with people milling around or quietly conversing, but there was a space down the middle of the room left deliberately empty. At the sight of her, all conversation stopped. Evelyn could identify most of the crowd—Thomas and the rest of the templars were clumped together in a corner, and the King and Queen of Ferelden stood out in their crowns—but others, like the short woman standing next to Ambassador Hewitt, or the Nevarran woman on the far side of the room, were strangers. 

Grand Cleric Elemena was standing in front of the fireplace. Next to her was a tall blond man in a neat, deep blue uniform. 

Evelyn didn't pause, she just glided forward until she, too, was standing in front of the Grand Cleric. 

Grand Cleric Elemena gave Bann Rutherford and Evelyn each a nod, and then began. "In the name of the Maker, who brought us into this world, and in whose name we say the Chant of Light . . . " 

It was harder to pay attention to the Grand Cleric's words than Evelyn thought it would be. Her combat clarity heightened all of her senses, but it was meant for battle—standing in a still room, Evelyn found herself hyper-focused on the embroidery of Elemena's robe and the unsettling feeling that all of the eyes in the room were on her. It was everything she could do not to turn around. As much as she wanted to, it wouldn't be very appropriate to stare down the guests. 

Movement on the other side of Bann Rutherford made Evelyn turn her head. The Nevarran woman passed him something small and shiny. The Bann turned the object around in his hand: it was a ring. 

If Bann Rutherford was holding a ring, then that meant that the part of the ceremony that required their participation was coming up. Evelyn looked back up at the Grand Cleric just in time. 

"You may give her the ring," Elemena said. 

For the first time, Evelyn turned and looked up at Bann Rutherford's face. Though Maxwell had sung him praises, Evelyn wasn't expecting Bann Rutherford to be so handsome; she did not usually have the same opinion of men as her brother. Bann Rutherford's blond hair was a shade or two darker than her own, and his face was clean-shaven, showing off a thin scar that went through his upper lip. He looked surprisingly nervous—well, only a little nervous, all things considered, but Evelyn had expected a man like him to have an inscrutable poker face. 

Evelyn handed him her scarred left hand. His touch was light and the expression on his face didn't change as he slid the ring easily onto her finger. It fit perfectly. 

"Do you, Cullen Stanton Rutherford, take Evelyn to be your lawfully wedded wife, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, as long as you both shall live?" Elemena asked. 

"I do," Bann Rutherford said. 

"And do you, Evelyn Lucille Cathrine Trevelyan, take Cullen to to be your lawfully wedded husband, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, as long as you both shall live?" 

"I do," Evelyn said. 

"Then I pronounce you husband and wife," Elemena said. "May the Maker smile upon you." 

And with that, the ceremony was over. 

Evelyn had just enough time to let out a sigh of relief before she and Bann Rutherford were swarmed by the guests. Kat pulled Evelyn into a tight hug, then Amethyne had to hug her, too, and even Rose came over to offer a friendly pat on the back and a few words of encouragement. From over her shoulder, Evelyn spotted Leliana nearly pushing the Grand Cleric toward the front door. 

When everyone was done touching her, Evelyn quietly excused herself and ducked into the servant's hall. Her combat clarity might keep her calm in battle, but in a social situation, it seemed to have the opposite effect. So many people touching her was making her twitch, so she let it drop and gave herself a few moments to breathe. 

As soon as she returned to the parlor, she found herself face-to-face with King Alistair. Quickly, Evelyn curtsied. "Your Majesty." 

"Hi, I am _so_ sorry. That was _not_ supposed to happen like that," the King said. When Bann Rutherford turned away from greeting Queen Anora, the King gestured between them. "Cullen, this is Evelyn. Evelyn, this is Cullen." 

Evelyn looked up at Cullen. "Hello," she said. "You can call me Evelyn." 

"Well, I hope so," he said brusquely. After a moment, he added, "You can call me Cullen." 

Everything after the ceremony went much smoother. Evelyn and Cullen mingled with the guests for a while before dinner was served. Evelyn got to officially meet the Right Hand of the Divine and best man, Cassandra Pentaghast. She knew of both Cassandra and Cullen from her preparation for the Divine Conclave, but Leliana was the only one of the Inquisition's leadership that she had personally met. 

As evening arrived and the temperature outside began to cool, dinner was served in the back garden to escape the house's heat. 

Evelyn used the meal to observe Cullen some more. She hadn't quite made up her mind about him. She didn't get a _bad_ feeling about him, which was something, but he was an unknown. She didn't know what he wanted from her. He was a templar—but he had left the order entirely, been sympathetic to the mages' views during the Conclave, and it was in their marriage contract that he couldn't send her back to a Circle without repercussions. He was a nobleman—but three months ago, he'd been a commoner. Coupled with the fact that he'd joined the templars at a young age, Evelyn didn't think Cullen was overly concerned with his lineage or having children. Maybe that was why Ferelden had picked him for this match. 

She tried a few times to converse with him over the course of the meal, but he wasn't very talkative. 

"So, what did you do after the Inquisition disbanded?" Evelyn tried as the soup was brought out. 

"I was an interim Captain of the King's Guard here in Denerim," Cullen said. 

"How did that go?" Evelyn asked. 

"Good," Cullen said. 

When no more information seemed to be forthcoming, Evelyn gave up and tried to not let the fish soup make her homesick. 

The rest of the table's occupants were a lot more lively. Amethyne was chatting animatedly with Queen Anora and Ambassador Moore, which was interesting. Evelyn knew that Amethyne had lived most of her life in Denerim before coming to Ostwick as one of Ferelden's ambassador's maids, but she hadn't expected Amethyne to be on speaking terms with the Queen herself. She'd have to ask about the story later. Closer to the head of the table, King Alistair, Leliana, and Cassandra were all arguing good-naturedly about the rules of Wicked Grace and quickly roped Evelyn in when the topic of regional rules came up. 

Neither the King and Queen nor the ambassadors stayed long after dinner. Kat excused herself soon after their guests left, but Amethyne stayed with Evelyn. When Leliana tried to pull them into a game of Wicked Grace, though, Evelyn thought that it would be best for her to retire, too. She was exhausted. 

James was already stationed outside Evelyn's bedroom door when she finally made it upstairs. He and Rose were the youngest of the templars that were assigned to Evelyn; they'd both only taken their vows a few months ago. Evelyn liked them so far—they knew that they hadn't trained for this sort of thing, and did a good job of following their lieutenant's lead. 

"Turning in?" he asked, sounding a little unsure. 

Evelyn nodded "Night." 

Once inside, Amethyne helped Evelyn undress. Off came all her surcote and kirtle, along with her slippers and all of her jewelry—almost. 

"Am I supposed to wear my ring all of the time?" Evelyn asked, looking down at her hand. She hadn't had time to examine it earlier, other than to briefly note that it wasn't hideous, gaudy, or hideously gaudy. In the center of the silver band was a rectangular ruby with two smaller diamonds on each side. The gems were definitely noticeable, but not ostentatious. Evelyn liked the ring immensely. 

"I don't think Kat wears hers at night," Amethyne said. 

"Oh, good." Evelyn took the ring off as well and put it on the vanity. "I'm a little worried I'd scratch my eye out in my sleep if I wear this thing." 

After changing into her nightgown, Evelyn sat at her vanity so Amethyne could unpin her braid for bed. 

"Have you met the Queen before?" Evelyn asked. 

"A few times, when I was working for Ambassador Corinne," Amethyne said. "It was the Hero of Ferelden who got me that job with her, really." 

"Oh? How did you meet him?" Evelyn asked. 

"Do you know what happened to the Couslands during the Blight?" Amethyne asked. 

"I've done a little bit of reading," Evelyn said. "Most of them were murdered by one of Loghain's lieutenants, right? Except for the Hero and his brother." 

"Yes," Amethyne said. "When I was young, my mother was a lady-in-waiting to a Lady Landra. They were visiting the Couslands when the castle was attacked." 

"I'm sorry," Evelyn said. 

"It was a long time ago," Amethyne said with a sigh. "Anyway, after the Blight ended, Aedan found me in Denerim and said that he had known my mother, and that my mother had said that her dearest wish was that I was able to follow her footsteps and become a lady-in-waiting. So he talked to the Queen and she made that happen." 

"He sounds like a good man, to remember your mother mentioning you like that," Evelyn said. 

"I think he is," Amethyne said. Belatedly, she added, "Your hair is done." 

"Thank you," Evelyn said. 

"Is there anything else you need tonight?" Amethyne asked. 

"No, you can go to bed," Evelyn said. "See you in the morning." 

Amethyne left. Evelyn bolted the door behind her, but then hesitated, her hand still on the latch. She was married now. Would Cullen want to consummate their marriage tonight? 

No, or at least it was very unlikely, given that he'd barely said two words to her over the course of the evening, Evelyn decided. She removed her hand and moved away from the door. After stashing her knife underneath her pillow and removing her nightgown, Evelyn climbed into bed. 

Besides, she thought as she got comfortable, if the door was locked, then that meant he'd have to ask before entering. 

***

Evelyn's night was uneventful, and she spent much of the next several days settling in to her new home. She saw Leliana and Cassandra off on their journey back to Orlais, explored the house and the garden in the backyard, and arranged for the last of her belongings to be retrieved from Ambassador Hewitt's residence. On the third day after her wedding, she sat down with Verald to go over the household books and sort out her allowance. 

The Rutherford finances weren't in the best shape, but either Cullen or his accountant was doing a good job managing what they had. Though his household budget was frugal—Cullen and Evelyn both received equally small personal allowances—the skeleton staff was paid a decent wage, and he didn't skimp on the essentials. Any of the extra money that was saved was put toward repairing Caer Bronach. 

The main problem was income. Now that Cullen had officially retired from his post as Captain of the King's Guard, he had no outside income. No freeholders had pledged themselves to his banner, and the land around Caer Bronach wasn't yet making enough to pay for its upkeep. Luckily, he weren't hurting for gold—Evelyn's dowry, along with generous wedding gifts from the King and Queen and even Justinia V, ensured that—but the savings wouldn't last forever. 

"Is he trying to court the freeholders at all?" Evelyn asked the seneschal. Cullen had been made Bann three months ago. That was plenty of time to start making progress. 

"Slowly," Verald said deliberately. He was in his sixties, with snow-white hair, and a measured way of speaking. Evelyn wasn't sure how he had come to work for Cullen, but something about the look in Verald's eye made her think it was partially for the challenge. "He thinks he'll make more progress once the keep is completed." 

"Do you know when that might be?" Evelyn asked. 

"The end of next month, perhaps," Verald said. "The carpenters are almost finished." 

"And Caer Bronach is going to be our permanent home?" Evelyn asked. Her parents moved effortlessly between their home in the heart of the city and their country estate. Ferelden, however, was much larger; the nobility usually lived on their lands, coming together in Denerim only for the Landsmeet. Traveling from the capital to Caer Bronach could take a week or more. 

"Yes." 

Evelyn nodded, thinking. Five weeks, plus travel time, if she was lucky. That would give her enough time to do her research and come up with a working plan. Historically, courting freeholders away from the banns they'd served for generations resulted in decades-long grudges, but Cullen didn't have any other options. If Evelyn was careful and played her cards right, however, she was sure she could find a way to gain enough freeholders' favor without too earning too much ire from her peers. 

A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. 

"Yes?" Verald said. 

Flora stuck her head into the office. Once she saw Evelyn, however, she could only stutter something about coming back later before quickly withdrawing. The door closed sharply behind her. 

Evelyn turned back to Verald. 

"Flora can be a little nervous around new people," Verald said. "She'll warm up to you soon, I'm sure." 

"It's fine," Evelyn said. She rose from her seat. "Thank you for talking with me. I'll let you know if I have any more questions." 

"Any time, my lady." 

Evelyn left the seneschal's office. What she really needed to do was talk to Cullen—who knew, he could have some kind of expertly-crafted plan for wooing Crestwood's freeholders. Unfortunately, Evelyn hadn't seen him since their wedding. According to Verald, he'd been called away on urgent business early the morning after their wedding. Ever since then, Cullen had left the house before dawn and only returned after most of the household was asleep. At this point, Evelyn wasn't sure if he was actually busy, or just trying to avoid her. 

That night, Evelyn stayed up late, listening for movement from the bedroom next door. She was waiting for footsteps, maybe the creak of a trunk opening, and was taken by surprise when she heard Gwen suddenly say, "Oh, I didn't know you still lived here." 

Evelyn slipped out of bed and quietly dressed in her nightgown, listening intently. 

Her assumption was right: it was Cullen's voice that replied. "What do you mean?" 

"Oh, I just haven't seen you since the wedding," Gwen said casually. Evelyn could almost hear her shrug. "I assumed that you'd ran off and someone forgot to tell me. Guess I lost a silver." 

Evidently Cullen didn't dignify Gwen's words with a response, as the next sound from the hall was a door closing. Evelyn waited a moment, and then opened her own door and stepped into the hall. 

"Did you really think he ran off?" Evelyn asked. 

To her credit, Gwen looked a little embarrassed that Evelyn had overheard her, but she hid the worst of it behind a shrug. "Maybe? He _did_ completely disappear for days on end." 

Evelyn had to admit, Gwen had a point. 

Speaking of disappearing, she wanted to catch him while he was still awake—Maker knew when she'd get another chance like this. Evelyn left the conversation at that and turned and knocked at Cullen's door. 

It took a few moments for Cullen to open the door halfway. Evelyn must have interrupted him as he was getting ready for bed: he wasn't wearing a shirt. Luckily, most of his body was behind the door and she only had to see part of his shoulder and arm. 

"What's—oh," he said. He took half a step back when he saw her, mouth flattening into a thin line. 

"I need to talk to you," Evelyn said. "In private, if possible." 

"Give me a moment," Cullen said gruffly. He closed the door. When it opened it a few minutes later and let Evelyn in, he was fully dressed. 

She couldn't help looking around his dimly-lit room as he closed the door behind her. It wasn't very remarkable. A four-poster bed was set against one wall, a desk against another, and a small seating area was in front of the fireplace. Like most of the pieces in the house, the furniture in Cullen's bedroom was expensive and well-made, yet looked as utilitarian as possible. The closest thing to a decoration or personal touch was the templar shield hidden in the corner behind an armor stand. The front was turned toward the wall, but Evelyn recognized the distinctive shape. 

"What do you want to talk about?" Cullen asked. 

"I was going over the books with Verald—" 

"Did _you_ think that I ran off, too?" Cullen interrupted. 

"Well, either Verald was right and you were truly busy, or you were just being phenomenally rude for no reason," Evelyn said coldly. She let out a breath and made her next words calmer. "It doesn't really matter to me. I would have looked over the books anyway. Ideally I would have liked to have your input, too, but you weren't available. Now that you're finally here, I'd like to ask you a few questions before you run off again." 

Cullen sighed and rubbed his face. "Fine," he said. "You can sit down, if you want." 

Evelyn seated herself on one of the armchairs in front of the fireplace. Cullen lit another lamp and then took the sofa. 

"Alright," he said, "what do you want to know?" 

"I noticed that no freeholders have pledged themselves to you yet," Evelyn said. "What's your plan? How do you plan to gain their favor?" 

"First of all, freeholders don't take any official oaths here in Ferelden," Cullen said, "but, yes, you're technically right, I don't have any freeholders yet. I have earned a fair amount of goodwill, though, and once we've moved to Crestwood, I think it will only be a matter of time. My parents were freeholders, and they always said to never trust an absent lord." 

Half of Evelyn's brain was still stuck on the "no official oaths" part—if no oaths or pledges were made, how did anyone keep track of anything in this stupid country?—but she refocused her attention and asked, "What have you done to gain their goodwill?" 

"After I was made a bann, I traveled to Caer Bronach to see what kind of repairs needed to be made," Cullen said. "A group of bandits had taken up residence, so I helped defeat them. I spoke to most of the villagers about what they needed from the keep, and let them know if I implemented any of their ideas. I also hired local workers to make the repairs." Cullen paused, then added, "Actually, when I went back last month to see how much progress had been made, I had to fight another group of bandits at the keep, too." 

Evelyn frowned. "Are you sure you want to live in a place that's been raided by bandits twice in the last three months?" 

"It will be fine once we're living there," Cullen said. "It's only a target now because no one has permanently lived there for so long. And I added more security before I left last time, so it shouldn't happen again." 

"If you say so," Evelyn said. She leaned back in her chair and surveyed Cullen, from the five o'clock stubble on his face to the holey socks on his feet. The man was taciturn to the point of rudeness . . . and yet, at the same time, he was mindful of what his lessers valued. He paid the staff a good wage, asked Crestwood's residents for advice on repairing the keep. And evidently, he was a man of action, not one to rest on his laurels. 

"Do you have any more questions?" Cullen prompted. 

"After Caer Bronach is restored, what are your goals?" Evelyn asked. 

Cullen shrugged. "Keep order, I suppose. Make sure no one starves. What else can I do?" 

"No plans to gain power? Become an arl? Marry a child off to one of the king's own?" 

Cullen made a face. "Andraste no, being a bann is bad enough." 

"Oh?" Evelyn said. "Is that not what you wanted?" 

"What? No, this is the opposite of what I wanted," Cullen said. "Who told you I _wanted_ to be nobility?" 

Evelyn tilted her head and peered at him. "Explain to me how you were made a bann if you didn't want the position." 

"Bad luck," Cullen said. He went on to explain how King Alistair himself thought Cullen was best for the job due to his unique background. "I had no desire to become a bann. I hate politics and fancy parties and posturing. I was planning to join my sister in South Reach after my tenure as captain ended." 

That . . . that explained a lot, actually. All this time, Evelyn had thought that Bann Rutherford had wanted to become nobility so badly that he'd even marry a mage to do it, but something about that assumption hadn't quite sat right with her after actually meeting the man. Cullen wasn't running around gilding everything he owned with gold trim, for starters. 

"What made you accept Alistair's proposal then?" Evelyn asked. 

"Alistair and Anora are very good with words," Cullen said carefully. After a moment, he added, "Also, once I saw how mismanaged Caer Bronach was, I wanted to fix that. No matter what I do, it's not like I can be worse than Bann Ceorlic." 

Evelyn let the corners of her mouth curl up, but she was already turning over her next question in her mind, trying to figure out the best way to ask it. She was pretty sure she already knew the answer, however, so she decided to be straightforward. 

"So, when do you want to consummate our marriage?" Evelyn asked. 

Maybe it was a product of essentially being an only child during her formative years, but Evelyn had never been one to tease or rile up others for her own amusement. However, there was something deeply satisfying about watching the color on Cullen's face rise as his expression went from surprised to horrified, before finally ending at embarrassed. Even in the low lamplight, his face was visibly red. 

"What if we . . . just put it off?" he asked stiffly. 

Evelyn crossed her legs and casually ran a finger down the back of her calf where Cullen couldn't see, feeling the raised scar tissue through her linen nightgown. An odd mixture of emotions rose in her chest—relief and regret in equal measure—but she kept it all off her face. The past few nights, she'd spent a lot of time first steeling herself for when her husband would inevitably visit her bed, and then, when it became apparent that that wasn't going to happen, preparing for this conversation. It wasn't going at all like she had planned; Cullen wasn't anything like she'd imagined. He could benefit from an etiquette lesson or two, sure, but he apparently had no expectations or demands of her. It was . . . freeing. 

"Indefinitely? I can live with that," Evelyn said. "But I suppose I should let you know, I did some research after I learned how determined the Chantry was to see me married off, and I can't imagine they'll grant us an annulment for non-consummation. Not only is the Chantry invested, but Ferelden and Ostwick are, too." 

Cullen nodded, his embarrassment forgotten. "I figured as much, myself." 

Evelyn fidgeted with her skirt for a moment before lying her hands flat on her lap. She had asked quite a lot of Cullen tonight; she might as well show show some vulnerability in return. "Right now, it would take a lot of time and effort to fight for an annulment, and . . . I don't think it's worth it. I am in a much better position, being married to you, than I would be otherwise. Also, you might hate politics, by I am very good at playing the Grand Game. 

"I think it's in both of our best interests to let the Chantry believe we are living in happily wedded bliss," Evelyn pushed on. "I'm not sure about Ferelden, but in Ostwick it's common for the groom to give the bride a gift after they've consummated their relationship, and I think it would be easier to do something like that rather than pretend to let someone walk in on us, or have an awkwardly staged conversation about how the sex was." 

Cullen looked like he wanted the sofa's cushions to swallow him whole again. His blush was back, and he leaned back so that he was staring up at the ceiling, presumably so he didn't have to look directly at Evelyn. "What kind of gifts are customary?" 

"I want a horse." 

That made Cullen look at her. "You already have a horse. I've met him, he's nice." 

"Yes, Jasper is perfectly nice when you visit him," Evelyn acknowledged. She wasn't surprised to hear that Cullen had visited the stables. "But riding him is another matter entirely. Cyril said he came from calvary training, but I think he must have washed out, because he bolts at everything. I'm really surprised that he didn't just launch himself into a merchant stall on the way here." 

"Alright, I'll see if I can get you a new horse," Cullen said, a faint smile on his lips. 

"I can wait until we're at Caer Bronach, I know finances are tight right now," Evelyn added. "But we could make a show of looking around in Denerim." 

"Are you sure you're not thinking about Redcliffe's fancy horses?" Cullen asked. 

Evelyn's laugh was ended by a yawn, so she stood up. 

"It's late, I need to get some sleep," she said. “I'll be around if you want to discuss the freeholder situation more.” 

Cullen rose, too. "Goodnight, then." 

"Goodnight."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t know anything about Ostwick except that it’s ruled by a Teryn and has two walls, so I’m basing Evelyn’s clothing off medieval references + the fact that there are NPCs wearing veils in Dragon Age II. 
> 
> This chapter took longer to post because I rewrote the second half, and I’m so happy I did! I think it turned out really well.


End file.
